Fallen Embers
by Tiffanybigelow
Summary: We all know the classic tale of the Phantom of the Opera; the love, the passion, the music, the betrayal, and the triumph. It is a story that has captured the hearts of millions...but things are not always as they seem...
1. Chapter 1

Fallen Embers

Disclaimer: I own nothing…all characters belong to Andrew Llyod Webber's 2004 movie version of The Phantom of the Opera.

Sudden bursts of orange and red were painted across the gray sky as the morning sun reclaimed her rightful place from her cousin of the night, and bathed the vast garden in golden light.

Fresh dew lingered and sparked like fine diamonds on the crimson petals of spring's first rose; the only sign of life, of beauty in the barren winter abused countryside. The last of the fallen snow shown brightly in the early light, and the icicles hanging from the naked trees dripped slowly, already beginning to melt. Birds chirped merrily as they woke from their deep slumber, their beautiful song floating gracefully on the wind.

She watched from the patio of her husband's home as the world came back to life. A soft spring breeze blew through her silver curls and brought chills to her brittle skin. Her eyes, now sunken and dull, blurred with unshed tears as a cold truth echoed in her heart; as life was being once more restored to the emptiness left by winter's cruel grasp, hers was soon to end.

She seemed to relax at the thought of the eternal sleep so near, in truth, she had wished for that peaceful release long before now.

Many years had passed since her days of innocent youth, her days as Prima Donna, and since a genuine smile had graced her lips. She had long ago chosen a life of leisure, wealth, comfort, and safety. She had married a well-respected aristocrat and had given birth to three beautiful children. This was the life that any woman should dream of having, and yet it seemed to suffocate her.

By no means was her husband cruel to her, he had loved her and tried so very hard to make her happy; so for his sake, and that of their children, she had tried. She called on everything she had ever learned on stage to better portray that of a happy woman, and for a moment she nearly believed it herself. But, as time wore on, the youthful fire in her large brown eyes flickered and died. The feeling of crushing loneliness and emptiness drowned the life from her slowly over the years. She was but a shell of her former self, a porcelain doll that smiled, nodded, and laughed when society deemed appropriate.

Tears gathered in her tired eyes once more and fell freely down her time ravaged face as she thought back on her life. Most of her memories were fleeting and out of focus, perhaps due to old age or suppression, she knew not, nor did she care.

Her wedding had been large and beautiful, with most of Paris in attendance. Her husband was the very essence of happiness and she, outwardly, the perfect blushing bride. The details of the ceremony eluded her, she could only remember feeling as if something were wrong.

Her life after marriage seemed to pass her by while she only watched with a strange detachment, as if she were watching another's life from a distance. The days found herby the window or in the gardens staring off into space, her eyes empty, void of any emotion. She seemed, to all those around her, like a princess in a tall ivory tower…they could see her but no one could reach. Nights, however, were vastly different.

The house was filled with the screams and sobs of the young Vicomtess as her dreams clawed at her heart.

Her life remained as such for many years, and not even the birth of her children could save her. Make no mistake, she loved her children as any mother should, but for all their smiles and laughter, there remained a hole which they could never fill. She wandered through her life without really living it, without giving to her family the love they so deserved.

Her mind continued to stumble through the dark bleakness of her memories until those of her Angel crept through the shadows and overcame her, bringing a long forgotten smile to her lips.

*****memory****

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation, darkness stirs, and wakes imagination, silently the senses, abandon their defenses…"

He sang to her of love, music, passion, and beauty. His words and voice enveloped her, the rest of the world fading away, no longer important. He was breathtaking…she couldn't take her eyes off him. His entire body oozed confidence, pride, and power; yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore. A part of her was frightened by the sheer amount of love that shone from those emerald depths, but she also saw the loneliness and pain that he desperately tried to mask. She longed to ease his heart and show him that he was all she needed, all that she had ever wanted.

****end memory ****

Grief wracked her body as she found herself once again at her husband's home. She cried for the lost chance of love with her Angel, for the destruction of the opera house, for the lives lost in the fire, for the horrible decision she had been forced to make, for leaving him, for marrying Raoul, for being a terrible wife and mother, and for him.

She remembered with vivid clarity the day she got the news. All of Pais had rejoiced as they read the headlines…

****memory****

'His Reign Has Ended

Phantom of Opera Found Dead!'

Ice flowed through her veins and her heart shattered as she collapsed to the floor. She screamed, her crystal soprano voice, his creation, piercing the silence of the early morning, anguish combining with angelic beauty. Her screams faded into tears until there were no more to shed.

****end memory****

The man she thought could never die had been dead almost fifty years, and even after all this time, the pain had never eased.

"Christine?" Raoul's voice, cracked with age and sickness, floated through the open doors to the patio. She closed her eyes as her husband called to her, pulling her mind from her Phantom. She did not answer, not trusting her voice to hide the tears.

"Christine, Christine!" He shouted, becoming worried when he received no reply.

"Christine…" A soft whisper echoed Raoul's cries.

Her eyes shot open and looked up to find him standing before her, just as handsome as the last time she had seen him. His eyes glimmered beautifully behind the ivory mask and he stretched out his arm offering her his black, leather clad hand. Her heart began to race as it had the night he first came to her in the dressing room so many years ago. She reached for him, needing to know he was really there.

"Christine!" Raoul's voice was so close she dare not turn around for fear her Angel might disappear. She smiled as their hands met and he pulled her close, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the morning. Raoul burst through the doors and onto the patio but he was too late, she was with her Angel now, as she always should have been, and now nothing could tear them apart.

Author's note: I am a die-hard Erik and Christine shipper, this is not the end…so no hate mail lol. I would really love to know what you guys think before I add the next chapters though. Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Christine woke in a cold sweat, her chocolate curls plastered to her face and her heart pounding, threatening to burst from her chest. She looked around frantically, sleep still clouding her vision. Dying oil lamps cast eerie shadows on the sleeping forms tossing in their beds and the curtains danced lazily as the bitter January wind seeped through the thin, cracked walls. She was in the ballet dormitories…she was home.

She sighed with relief and lay back down, snuggling under the covers and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

After what seemed an eternity, her breathing returned to normal and her heart rate slowed, but she could not find rest. So many questions…so much that did not make sense. Each thought collided with the next, running together until she could not distinguish where one ended and the other began.

She sat up and looked out the small ornate, dusty window by her bed. It was still early morning; the gray of the sky gave the city of love a somber, mournful appearance. The shops, normally bustling with life, were still closed and the chairs of the outdoor cafés were face down on the tables. Snow drifted slowly on the soft breeze before dusting the empty streets in pure, undisturbed white powder. Save for the elderly man hobbling around delivering papers, it seemed a ghost town.

Giving up any hope of sleep, she pushed the covers from her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Perhaps a visit to her father's grave would help. With so many things weighing on her mind over the last few months and now this all-too-real dream, she needed to be near him. Despite having been gone for years, he still was able to comfort her and help the toughest decisions seem easier to make.

As her bare feet touched the ice cold floor, a violent shiver racked her petite form. She quickly pulled a small blanket from the bed to cover herself.

Christine moved stealthily past the quiet figures around the room, expertly avoiding the floor boards that groaned and creaked with age. She opened the door to find Raoul asleep on the floor; he had spent the night watching over her, should the Phantom attempt to take her. She smiled, moved by his thoughtfulness yet slightly irritated, he had not left her one moment to herself since that night on the rooftop.

Silently she closed the door, knowing he would panic if he woke to find it open and she were missing, and tiptoed past him. She glanced back at him once more before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and leaving him to his fantasies.

The walk to the stables was all but a blur, her feet guided by memory alone. Her mind tried to recall the dream that had seemed so real; replaying it over and over again, trying to understand and every detail was becoming more painfully clear. Her heart felt heavy and at the same time broken, as if in a million pieces, cutting into her soul until she felt tears sting her eyes.

As she wiped the tear stains from her face, she found herself in the wardrobe room with a black dress draped over her arm. She vaguely remembered paying for the buggy and seeing the stable master hitching the horses. She turned to make her way to the dressing corner when she saw them, a bouquet of deep red roses bound by a black satin ribbon. Only one person left her such gifts, tokens of his love and affection…he was watching her. The thought should have made her uneasy, but he was her Angel, he would always be there. Regardless of what everyone thought, as long as he watched over her she knew she was safe.

Once again deep in thought as she walked to the carriage, Christine didn't notice the boots lying inside an empty stall, nor the cloaked figure upon the coach box.

"To my father's grave please" she muttered, barely above a whisper, as she climbed into the coach, smoothing her skirts as she sat. With a snap of the reigns and a small lunge forward, the Opera Populaire began to fade into the distance.

The bleak still of the morning, the howling of the wind, the beating of hooves, the crunch of the snow, and the gentle sway of the carriage melded together in a resounding requiem. Her heart raced, matching the steps of the horses and her blood felt as cold as the air biting her face. Never in her life had anything sounded so mournful, so desolate, reaching to the core of her soul and ripping it to shreds. She had felt this way in her dream; the pain had felt so true, so tangible…even now it tormented her.

She had married Raoul, her childhood sweetheart, her fiancé. They had lived a wonderful life and had beautiful children. Everything she had ever dreamed of having since she was a child had come true, so why could she feel only sorrow? How had pain, heartbreak, regret, and loneliness become so much a part of her life that she could remember nothing else?

'In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me, and speaks my name…'

Those words echoed in her head and the headlines from her dream flashed before her eyes, 'Phantom of Opera Found Dead!'.

Fresh tears rolled down her face as a wave of grief washed over her; she had lost him. Her Angel, her Phantom, her Erik had died.

The thought of losing him frightened her. How could she live without him? He has been everything to her for the better part of ten years. He has given her everything; hope, music, joy, compassion, happiness, companionship, and love.

'Love? Does he love me? Do I love him? No, of course not! I love Raoul, we are to be married!' She reasoned with herself, trying to quiet that little voice of doubt. ' it is love, isn't it? Or do I love the memories we share of my father? No!' She scolded herself, 'I love Raoul and he loves me, he always has.

'But, then where has he been? All these years since my father's death, why did he never come looking for me? Surely his family has enough money and resources that they could have found me. If he loves me as much as he claims, why did he leave me alone?' But as that thought crossed her mind, a small smile curved her tear stained lips. ' but I wasn't alone, I had my Angel…Erik. He was always there with me.'

The hansom came to an abrupt halt outside the cemetery gates and momentarily pulled her from her thoughts. As she stepped down and through the tall iron threshold, any and all happiness in her life seemed to vanish. Her entire body was empty, a black hole of pain and despair. Each breath came heavier than the last, the overwhelming sadness all consuming.

A dense fog hovered over the ground; snow falling like widow's tears, covering the graves of loved ones in a cold embrace. The looming hooded guardians stared down at her with empty eyes as she walked past. She caressed the petals of the roses he had given her, hoping for some comfort.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…her father promised her that he would send her the Angel of Music…her father promised her,her father promised her."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

(Author's Note: I changed the setting for parts to fit the plot of the story and I also incorporated No One Would Listen, again, with a different setting. I still own nothing, all belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber.)

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing, her father promised her that he would send her the Angel of Music. Her father promised her…her father promised her."

She was angry with her father; angry for leaving her alone in the world and for promising such a young child something which he could never deliver. She had believed him. He had never lied to her so she trusted him! The pain of his passing was eased by the comfort of knowing that his last gift would be that of an angel to watch over her in his absence, and he had let her down!

Or had he? What is an angel? Angels are protective and guiding creatures helping those in need. Surely an Angel of Music would be such a being but with a gift and love for music. Perhaps her father had sent her the Angel of Music.

Obviously Erik is no celestial being, he is a man of flesh and blood…but he had certainly played the part. Ever since her arrival to the Opera Populaire he has watched over her, protected her, guided her, been a friend to her, dried her tears, and taught her the beauty of music. How could one not believe him to be an angel?

She could not imagine her life without him; he is her breath, her heartbeat, her joy, her song…but yet she is engaged to Raoul.

It is true, she loves Raoul, but it isn't the same. He is sweet and gentle when they kiss, but it's not enough. She smiles at the sight of him or the sound of his name, but with her Angel…the world falls away. The sound of his voice heats her blood, the sight of him makes her legs weak, and the touch of his hand steals her breath.

'So why am I to marry another?'

She thought again of her father and how much she missed him still. Maybe she was right, perhaps she only clung to Raoul for they shared so many memories of her beloved papa.

Christine took a ragged breath, not sure what to think or how to feel.

"You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered, you were once a friend and father, then my world was shattered…"

She needed to speak with him, even though he could not answer she needed his guidance.

"wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near, sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here…"

Tears ran hot, burning her eyes and freezing on her cheeks.

"Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would, dreaming of you won't help me to do, all that you dreamed I could…"

Her crystal voice, laced with sorrow, soared through the air as she sang to her father. He had always loved to hear her sing.

"Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle, too many years fighting back tears, why can't the past just die?

"Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye, try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try! No more memories, no more silent tears, no more gazing across the wasted years…help me say goodbye…help me say…goodbye!"

She collapsed, emotionally exhausted, at the based of her father's mausoleum, the skirt of her dress pooling around her but doing nothing to shield her from the cold.

Long moments passed be for she found her voice again and with her head hung in shame, she finally spoke.

"What have I done Papa? You promised me, you promised me that you would send me the Angel of Music…and you kept your promise. And now how I've repaid you, denied him and betrayed him."

She choked back the lump growing in her throat,

"He trusted me…he trusted me to be different and I wasn't! I've hurt him so. You sent me the Angel of Music and I turned from him."

Silence hung heavy, not even the wind dared make a sound.

When Christine spoke once more, her voice was flat, tinged with desperation and fear.

"What Am I to do? What am I to do about Raoul? What I once used to dream, I now dread. We can't stay here, we have to leave. If he finds me it won't ever end. He'll take me, I know, we'll be parted forever…he won't let me go."

She looked up, praying for some kind of sign or answer, but none came; she was met only with her father's name etched in cold, unforgiving stone.

Her eyes were swollen and red from endless crying and yet the flow never stopped, fresh wave after wave washed down her face. Her body shook violently, more from the whirlwind of emotions than the cold, her muscles screaming in pain. A sad sigh escaped her lips as she placed the roses but the wall and turned to walk away.

(change POV)

He had watched her as she made her way through the maze of headstones, careful to stay silent and out of sight. Her song ate at him; how he hated to see her in pain. He desperately wanted to comfort her, to ease her heart, but he knew that he was a major part of what troubled her. Never had he meant to cause her any hurt, he only wanted to love her and earn her love in return. For a moment he had believed it possible, his heart had dared to hope that she would grow to care for him, but with her engagement to the boy, he knew she was lost to him.

'This is why' he thought, 'this is why I lock away emotions. Once I set them free, I fall hard. I end up falling with no one to catch me. So I crash to the ground, broken and alone.'

Now, as he always had before, he watched from afar the woman who held his heart.

He saw her fall to the ground as her emotions drained her and he suppressed the urge to run to her side.

"What have I done, Papa?"

Erik listened as Christine spoke to her father, her words cutting him deep. She feared him! He had let his anger and jealousy get the better of him and in so doing he had pushed her away. She wanted to leave, to run and be free of him.

He fell to his knees, the cold wall of her father's crypt numbing his back and seeping to his core. He had truly lost her. He had spoken once of fear turning to love, but he had never wanted her to fear him; he would prefer for her to hate him.

So lost in his thoughts he had not noticed that Christine had started to leave, making her way back to the carriage. He did not realize that he was crying, or that he was softly singing.

"No one would listen, no one but her, heard as the outcast hears…"

(Change POV)

She stopped, her heard turned slightly to the side, holding her breath and listening. Someone was singing, it sounded like…it sounded like her Angel.

'He sounds different, so…so sad'

She turned around, moving silently towards his voice, wanting to soothe him but not wanting him to stop singing, she needed to know more.

"Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude, I learned to listen, in my dark my heart heard music. I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world, no one would listen, I alone could hear the music. Then at last, a voice in the gloom, seemed to cry, I hear you; I hear your fears, your torment and your tears…"

She could hear the loneliness in his voice as he sang of his past and the hope when he spoke of her. A smile captured her face as she came to understand what she means to him. She is his light in the darkness, the lifeline in the ocean…she is his hope.

"She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness, no one would listen, no one but her, heard as the outcast hears.."

His voice had dwindled to a defeated whisper by the time she made it to the corner of the tomb; he sat with his back to the wall, his arms resting on his bent knees, his head hung low.

"No one would listen, no one but her…heard as the outcast hears…"

Christine couldn't believe what she had heard, what she was seeing. She had never seen him so broken and vulnerable, he was always so strong…and she had destroyed him.

"Oh, Erik…"

The words had fallen from her lips before she could stop them.

He looked up slowly, his emerald eyes red with tears. "Christine, I love you…" He sang softly, not knowing what else to say; wanting her to know before she disappeared from his life


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four::

She came to stand beside him and dropped to her knees at his side, her mind empty but of thoughts of him. Her voice shook with sorrow and nerves as she let her heart speak what her mind dared not.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known, God give me consent to show you, you are not alone!"

She held his face in her hand and kissed him, tasting his tears on his lips. A brief moment passed before she pulled away, a slight smile on her now flushed face; she searched his eyes, normally confident and proud, now filled with wonder and surprise. Her gaze wandered back and forth from his longing eyes to his lips before she finally could resist no more. As her lips captured his once more, time seemed to slow to a crawl. One of Erik's arms circled her waist, pulling her closer and the other hand snaked through her chocolate curls to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss; he held her tight and she reveled in the closeness, feeling safe in his strong embrace. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in the taste of him; God forgive her, but it felt so right…the way her body molded to his, the way his arms fit around her, the way her heart pounded against her chest, and the way the earth spun beneath her…oh, how she longed for this feeling to never end.

Need for air drove them apart, but they continued to hold each other close, her eyes remained closed for a few seconds more before they fluttered open to meet his, and on his face she saw pure love and fragile hope.

"Erik, I…"

The sound of thundering hooves brought reality crashing down upon them before she could finish. With the stealth and grace of a large cat, Erik quickly rose to his feet and gently helped Christine to hers and positioned himself protectively in front of her as Raoul came into view.

"Christine! Christine! Whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your father!" He shouted as he slid off the rather winded stallion. He drew his sword as he rushed towards her, his every movement challenging the man before him. "Let her go you monster!"

A low, menacing growl escaped from the Phantom as he too unsheathed his sword, just in time to block Raoul's blow.

Christine watched in muted horror as the two men fought, her breath catching in her throat each time their blades collided. They fought their way around countless headstones and lifeless trees, trading offensive and defensive strikes; the sound of metal against metal pervading the air. Raoul cried out in pain as Erik's sword slashed his arm and he fell against some poor soul's tomb, before pushing himself back to his feet. Christine followed as the moved through the cemetery, not wishing to see what may happen but too frightened to look away. She had tried many times to find her voice and beg for this to end but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words came forth; so she prayed silently for…

Erik was on the ground, his weapon kicked away, and Raoul stood above him, ready to plunge his sword into his heart…

"No Raoul!"

Her voice, desperate and terrified, cut through the heavy silence and both men turned to look at the woman who so consumed them.

"No…don't do this." She pleaded, tears once more coursing down her face. Raoul looked down at Erik, contempt and hatred contorting his perfect face, 'I should finish this now' he thought briefly to himself, before replacing his sword in its sheath, 'Christine would never forgive me.' He backed away slowly, never breaking eye contact,until he was standing beside his horse.

Christine slowly walked towards her Angel, needing to know that he was unharmed, when an arm around encircled her waist and unceremoniously pulled her onto a horse. Still in shock, Christine found resistance impossible and only watched in tears as her Angel faded into the distance.

She sat on the cold, stone floor of the tiny chapel, holding herself as she rocked back and forth. How had everything gone so wrong? What was she doing? Nothing was making any sense! Her entire body shook violently, draining her of any energy she may have had.

Footsteps on the stairwell drew her from her personal hell and her heart skipped a beat in anticipation, but just as quickly fell, as she looked up to meet Raoul's ocean blue eyes.

"Raoul, I'm frightened, don't make me do this. Don't put me through this ordeal by fire, it scares me…" She had not moved from the floor and her gaze soon returned to her father's portrait. How could he expect her to be okay with this? How could he use her in such a way?

"Christine, Christine don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now" he sang softly, trying to calm her fears. He walked closer and put a hand on her shoulder, ignoring how she flinched at his touch. "I promise you that I will keep you safe, Little Lotte, but if we don't do this now, this monster…he kills without a thought, he murders all that's good and as long as he lives he will haunt us 'til we're dead."

Anger boiled inside her at his words and she jumped to her feet, spun to face him, and struck him hard in the face.

"How dare you! He is no monster! Do not ever speak of him like that, you don't know him! How dare you!"

Raoul looked up in surprise, her sudden outburst had caught him off guard, but, he supposed that it was warranted. A cool, and eerily calm smile twisted his lips as he rubbed his face, which shockingly still stung, and he closed the distance between them and brought his face mere inches from hers.

"All you need do is perform, Little Lotte…I'll take it from there." He cooed in her ear as ran his hand through her hair.

She pulled away enough to study his eyes, unsure why she felt so uneasy, but needing reassurance.

"Do you promise you won't hurt him?" Her stomach churned at the thought of anyone causing him pain and it made her physically ill to think she would play a hand in this pain. Raoul cupped her chin in his large, cold and clammy hand and stroked her cheek softly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and soothing.

"I promise Lotte. When he comes to watch you perform his opera, we will simply arrest him and take him away, where he will await a fair trial just like anyone else. You have my word."

Christine smiled sweetly as he pulled her into a quick hug before he left her to compose herself in private. When the echo of his boot steps had vanished, she once more collapsed to the floor, enjoying the cool of the stone on her heated skin. Raoul's words had been meant to comfort her, and had she not been looking at him, he might have been successful…but she had seen his eyes. His eyes, the sweet, bright, ocean blue orbs that she once loved, now dark, gray…hatred and anger churning like the stormy sea. He had no intention of keeping his word. He was planning on killing her Angel and she was the bait.

"Twisted every way, what answer can I give?Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who inspires my voice? Do I have any choice?I know I can't refuse, and yet I wish I could…" she sang softly, trying desperately to understand what she must do. "Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me? In this, the Phantom's opera?" She closed her eyes against the confusion and pain as a silent tear slid down her alabaster skin.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Madame Giry silently made her way through the maze of dark tunnels and winding stairs constantly fighting the urge to turn around. In her hand she clutched a letter, a letter she had written for him. "It's urgent, Nette, please" she had pleaded. The poor girl had looked so frightened that the ballet mistress had grudgingly agreed, but she was now plagued with indecision. What good could come of this? Why must this go on? Question after question bombarded her conscience until she had finally decided to leave and let fate play its hand, whatever the outcome. She wanted no part in what was to come.

A flood of light momentarily blinded her and tore a groan of pain from her pursed lips.

"Antionette"

She blinked rapidly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, and her cool gray eyes met the glimmering emerald of his. She sighed heavily, knowing that there was no turning back now.

"Erik…" She cleared her throat, not knowing exactly what to say; she had considered lying to him, but she detested the idea, and he had always been able to see right through her lies.

"Erik…I have a message for you." His brow rose as he looked at her, whether from annoyance or intrigue she could not guess. "From Christine."

Her hand shook slightly as she handed him the envelope, her emotions overcoming her normally stoic demeanor. She knew not what the letter contained but her heart feared the worst. She knew it would be better for him to be alone when he read its contents so, she said a silent prayer for this man, whom she loved as a son, and bowed slightly before making her exit.

Erik watched as his long-time friend disappeared into the shadows. He had seen the concern in her eyes and it warmed his heart; she, when no one else had, had cared for him.

As her footsteps faded, his eyes fell to the note in his hand. The envelope held only the word 'angel'…Antoinette had said that it was from Christine, but he had not dared to believe her. 'Why would she write to me? Did she not despise me? Was she not afraid of me?'

His hands trembled as he pulled the letter from its confines, his breath trapped in his lungs as he unfolded the…were those tear stains?

My Angel,

As nothing in this opera house happens without your knowing, I find it safe to assume that you have heard of the Vicomte's plan for your opera. I understand that I have no right to ask anything of you after all that I have done, but I beg of you…please don't go! I fear he means to have you killed! Erik…I…I can't bear the thought of losing you! I beg of you! Please my Angel, please don't go

The letter fell from his hands and fluttered to the floor. He had indeed heard their ill-conceived plans to capture him. He had heard how the police were to be present and armed and the doors were to be barred. He had even heard that Christine was to perform, to act as bait to draw him out, and that she had agreed. Yet, she was now begging him not to go. Why? If the boy's plan were to miraculously succeed, she would be free of him, free to live her life with the fop. Isn't that what she wanted? To be free of the monster who haunts her? Why would she try to protect him? Or was this just a ruse? Was this part of the plot?

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as his head began to pound. He wanted with all his heart to believe that she cared for him, that the fear of losing him that she spoke of was true, but his mind argued against it. She had betrayed him once before, what was there to stop her from doing so again?

But, in the cemetery, not two days ago, she had kissed him…twice. Could she truly have feelings for him? Was she really trying to save his life?

At some point during the battle between his heart and mind, he had, unknowingly, gotten up from the chair and had begun pacing round the room. He groaned in frustration and collapsed onto the bench in front of the organ. His hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, drifted over the keys until they found the ones for which they searched. The music consumed him almost instantly, his whole body swaying in time as the notes caressed his soul and eased his mind.

When at last the silence returned, he stood and retrieved Christine's letter. He took in her words once more, almost able to hear the panic in her voice, and it was then that he decided.

"Seal my fate tonight, I hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke's wearing thin, let the audience in, let my opera begin!"

Christine stood in the wings wringing her hands, anxiously waiting for her cue. She looked around frantically, searching the rafters and audience for any sign of him, praying that he had listened. "Please watch over him, Papa." She prayed as the music slowed and she walked slowly, as a prisoner to an execution, onto the stage.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy, no dreams within her heart but dreams of love!"

Murmurs of disapproval and malcontent had been unending since the curtains parted and many patrons had stood to leave when she had stepped out; but her voice, ringing out pure and sweet silenced the crowd and coaxed deserters back to their seats.

She sat at the edge of the stage picking at the rose in her hand, all the while scanning the room for Erik.

A wave of relief washed over her when she could find no trace of him, silently thanking God that he would be safe.

"Passerino, go away for the trap is set, and waits for its prey…"

Christine's heart stopped. It couldn't be…oh, but that voice! She could never mistake that voice for anyone else. He was there, out in the open for everyone to see. She looked up, ever so slightly, to see if anyone had noticed, and to her relief, they seemed oblivious.

"You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which til now has been silent, silent"

He pressed a finger against his lips, emphasizing his point. Their eyes met and her knees nearly gave out beneath her as she tried to stand. She became lost in the torrent sea of emotions in his emerald depths; no longer were they on stage before a hundred people, they were simply two lovers alone in a world of music.

"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge, in your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me…" As his voice enveloped her she realized it was true, the moment she heard him sing, all her defenses had failed. She was his.

"Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided, decided…"

She continued to watch in awe as he sang and meticulously maneuvered around the stage, each step bring him closer to her. She desperately wished for the gap between them to close, a yearning for his touch she had never known overwhelmed her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

"What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" Finally! He had spun to stand behind her, pulling her roughly against his body, producing a soft moan of pleasure from her lips. Never before had he touched her with his bare hands for she was not his to touch, but tonight he found that he needed the touch, needed it with a carnal hunger.

Raoul, perched high above in Box Five, watched the disgusting display below, growing more and more furious with each passing second. His fiancé was swooning in the arms of another man, and in front of all of Paris! How dare she! In all the time since their engagement, she had never shown him the kind of passion and desire that she was so openly showing…who the hell was this man? Slowly the realization dawned on him…it was the Phantom, Christine's beloved Angel. He wrinkled his nose in revulsion before giving the 'signal' to the managers.

Christine and her Angel now stood in the center of the stage upon a bridge. He held her close, her back flush against his chest and her head resting peacefully on his shoulder, her eyes close in contentment. She felt safe, loved, needed, and appreciated. Nothing and no one else mattered.

He cradled her, savoring the way she relaxed in his arms and how perfectly she fit in his embrace, as if they had been made for each other. He gingerly ran his fingers through her soft curls, trying to memorize the texture, the scent; he wanted to remember every little detail…just in case.

The music had slowed to a soft and slow whisper, and everyone, save Christine and her Phantom, held their breaths in anticipation.

His voice trembled slightly, fear, love, and desperation lacing every word as he began his final plea.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, lead me, save me from my solitude, say you want me with you here, beside you…"

She had been lost in the feel of his arms around her, finally feeling as if she were home. She heard him singing, smiling as his sweet words made her heart soar. Why did they sound so familiar? Where had she heard these words before?

As the song continued, a sickening feeling twisted her stomach and her eyes flew open. They were the same words Raoul had sang to her on the rooftop so many months ago. The same, yet so very different. Raoul's words had been cool and aloof, as if he were asking for something he already had; Erik made those same words into a vow of everlasting love, if only she could love him in return.

She turned to face him, her eyes filling with tears. He was shaking visibly now, his heart on his sleeve, hers to do with as she pleased.

"Anywhere you go let me go too, Christine, that's all I ask of…"

A deafening boom echoed through the auditorium, bringing in its wake shrieks of terror. Christine and Erik continued to hold each other, their eyes locked; the quick, and shallow breaths they took were the only signs that they too had heard. Panic had instantly ensued down below, all forms of manners and etiquette forgotten, along with thoughts of the couple on stage,in the rush for the exit.

Erik felt the familiar stickiness of fresh blood.

Christine felt the new sensation of something unnaturally warm soaking through her corset.

Monsieur Firmin still stood, his arm outstretched, clutching the smoking pistol. 'What have I done?' he thought, feeling the color drain from his face.

"You imbecile! You were supposed to wait for a clear shot!" Raoul shouted as he climbed from his seat and rushed to the stage.

Everything was moving so slow. The voices, the screams, they all blended together and seemed so far away. A tear slid down her face as she saw the pain creep into his eyes. His grip on her arm loosened until his hands fell to his sides. He swayed for a second before dropping to his knees.

A pair of arms grabbed her around the waist and pulled her backwards away from her Angel. "Christine…" Erik called to her, his voice cracking and his vision blurring.

"Erik! No!" She screamed for him, fighting desperately against her captor as her Angel crumpled to the floor. She bit, scratched, kicked and slapped at the man who held her but his hold never faltered. Her assault on her kidnapper did not cease until she felt the cold night air and was violently tossed into a carriage.

"It's over Little Lotte, you never need worry about that monster coming for you again. You are safe." Raoul smiled sweetly down at her. His voice was meant to be soft and comforting but his eyes were malevolently triumphant.

"You bastard!" She spat in his face and moved to strike him once more when his hand collided with her cheek. The force of his blow knocked her against the wall of the carriage and onto the floor.

"Do not ever think to dishonor me again, Christine. That abomination is gone, so what ever plans you two may have devised, you are mine. He will not be coming to take you from me ever again. You are my wife in practice, and soon by law. You will honor me, Christine. Do you understand?"

She looked up through her tears, fear and hatred and rage fighting for dominance, and slowly nodded. This seemed to please him, his body relaxed and he smiled as he leaned back into the seat. "We will be home soon, Little Lotte."

The drive to his home, her soon to be prison, was spent in silence with Christine curled into a ball on the floor, as far away from Raoul as possible.

Antoinette Giry sat quietly in the corner of the bedroom reading, as she had done every night for the last month. She smiled mentally at the irony of her choice in text…Mary Shelley Frankenstein. Truth be told, it was, as morbid as it sounded, a personal favorite of hers; how much pain and loss could have been avoided, if only one person had shown compassion to that poor creature. 'Monster' they had called him, 'demon'…how much this reminded her of…

"Antoinette?" A drowsy voice called from the bed, startling the old woman.

"Erik?" She asked, barely able to contain her overwhelming joy, as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

Author's Note: I have decided to introduce a character from the Gaston Leroux and Susan Kay novels. Again, I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, sadly.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, her voice gushing with relief. He side-eyed her and mumbled something obscene under his breath and tried to force himself into a sitting position. A hiss of pain escaped from his lips as the muscles on his right side screamed in protest, forcing him to collapse back onto the pillow. "You really should take things slowly until you get your strength back. You lost a lot of blood and the fever has only just subsided…you need to rest." Madame Giry's words were hesitant in the beginning but soon grew into the stern, determined scold of a mother.

In no mood for her ramblings, Erik rolled his eyes and turned from his back to lay on his left side facing away from his caretaker. The cool satin sheets felt glorious against his fevered face, nearly lulling him back into a peaceful sleep. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he would dream of…

"Christine!" his mind was reeling as he bolted from the bed and stood towering above Madame Giry, who had yelped in surprise at his sudden movement.

"What happened? Where is Christine? How did I get back here? How long have I been in this damn bed? What happened to Christine?" The questions fell from his lips so quickly that it was almost impossible to understand what he was asking. His voice was thick with what Antoinette could only describe as terror…pure, unadulterated terror. His entire body shook uncontrollably, his piercing eyes never leaving hers; he desperately needed answers, but he was not entirely sure that he would be able to handle what may come. If any harm had come to Christine because of his foolish pride, he could never live with himself. He felt sick, his head pounded, his heart raced, and the room had begun to spin. He exhaled deeply and leaned against the wall, glad for the support, as his strength began to wane.

"Erik, I will answer any questions that you have, but I cannot answer them all at once."

Their eyes meet briefly, a silent agreement between them, and he nodded for her to continue.

"It was the final scene of Don Juan, you and Christine were together on the bridge and you were singing to her…" She glanced up at her adopted brother, tears falling from her eyes as the memories slowly returned to his.

"Monsieur Firmin, he…he was the one who fired the shot. I was so afraid, for a moment I wasn't sure which of you he had hit, until you dropped to your knees. The Vicomte was furious, shouting that Monsieur Firmin was supposed to have waited for a clear shot. He rushed onto the stage and pulled Christine away from you and took her from the theatre. She screamed for you, Erik."

His eyes were shut tight, fighting and losing the battle to contain his tears.

"You must know that, Erik. She tried to stay with you. She struggled against him, trying to get back to you, but he was too strong. She didn't want to leave you. She was terrified for you." She paused, allowing the information she had given to sink in, knowing that whatever his reaction, it would only get worse as she continued.

Head hung in shame, eyes still closed, he cleared his throat. "Why did no one help her?" Erik nearly choked on the words, the lump in his throat refusing to go down. He continued to cast his full weight onto the wall, not trusting his legs to support him.

"It was mass panic. Everyone was screaming and running for the exit, no one truly took notice until after, and I was so consumed in my efforts to help you…well, I knew that at least, if nothing else, she was safe. You, on the other hand, would not have been. So, as quickly and discreetly as possible, we brought you back here to tend to your wounds. I thought that you were going to die, Erik."

Her voice quivered as the emotions once more began to surface. Besides little Meg, Erik was the closest thing to family that she had left; the thought of him dying, in her arms no less, was petrifying!

"We?"

He spoke so low that she wasn't sure that he had actually said anything at all.

"What?" She looked up at him, confusion plastered over her face.

"You said 'we brought'. Who is 'we'?" His face was slowly turning a deep red, his tall frame beginning to shake again, and his fists were almost rhythmically clenching and opening. She knew that this was to be expected. Erik trusted very, very few people with his person, let alone with the whereabouts of his home. This reaction was expected but that expectation did not make the situation any easier to handle.

"Antoinette, what are you going on abo-…Allah! Has anyone ever told you what a horrid sight you are this early in the morning?!"

Erik's eyes snapped open and were met with the cool jade orbs of a ghost from his past. Nadir Khan. He hadn't changed much over the years. He stood barely two inches shorter than Erik, a few silver streaks in his raven hair, and his dark golden skin held a few more worry and laugh lines that when they had last met. Much to Erik's surprise, apparently Nadir had taken to wearing the latest in French fashion rather than his traditional Persian robes.

"What, pray tell, did I do to deserve your presence?" Erik, drained of any energy, slid down the wall until he sat comfortably on the floor, awaiting yet another answer. He began to massage his temples as the pounding in his head had seemed to increase tenfold. He rubbed his face as the pain began to ebb away when, for the first time since he woke, he realized that he wasn't wearing his mask. His hand covered his right cheek as he jumped up to search for his porcelain sanctuary.

"I assume that you are searching for this?" Nadir, amusement shining in his eyes, held the mask in his hand, dangling it in front of Erik. The Phantom, not the least bit amused, shot a deadly look at his 'friend' as he ripped the mask from the Persian's grasp and placed it back on his face.

No words were spoken between the trio as they each collected their thoughts and emotions, even their very breaths seemed to echo in the heavy silence. The old grandfather clock in the far end of his home chimed two, bringing Erik back to his unanswered questions.

"Why are you here, Daroga?" His tone was flat, he wanted no quarrel, only answers.

"I was passing through this wonderfully boring city when I read of a entirely new opera soon to be performed. Normally such a thing would not entice me so, but the lack of the composer's name is what caught my attention. That and the opera house in which it was to be performed, it all lead to you in my mind. You've always been irritatingly innovative so I thought to myself, 'Eh, why not?'

"I must say, I was impressed. The music, the lyrics, it was all very brilliant…perhaps a bit risqué for Paris, but who am I to judge? As to why I am here in your…what did you call it Antoinette? Your home? For the love of Allah my friend, this is no home. Regardless, I offered my assistance to the Madame here, in bringing you here to tend your wounds. I can't imagine that she would have been able to drag you here on her own."

Nadir had, during the course of his story, wandered out of the room and back in with a chair which he now occupied. Erik was silent as he regarded his old friend. They were alike and yet different in so many ways. Erik had always been the dark, brooding, aggressive type; while Nadir was the sarcastic, charitable, and sympathetic type. Of course that did not mean that he was one to be trifled with, no, he was as deadly as the Phantom himself if provoked. He considered his friend's words and took them as truth; he opened his mouth to speak, for he still had questions but Madame Giry seemed read his mind.

"It has been a month since the incident. As I said, you lost quite a lot of blood and took to a fever not long after. We were not sure if you would survive. And as for Christine, she is still staying at the Chateau de Chagny. No, there has been no wedding." She added hastily as heartbreak flashed across Erik's face. He let out a small sigh of relief, thankful for that at least. "But, Erik…Christine, she…she thinks that you are dead. I have tried to speak to her but the Vicomte, he refuses to allow me to visit. I've even written letters but they are always sent back."

"I must see her, Antoinette. I need to know that she is safe."

"Erik, my friend, I do not wish to cause you any pain, but, what if she is happy?" Nadir asked quietly. He knew that it would hurt Erik to hear, but it needed to be addressed.

The once feared Opera Ghost sighed as he sank back to the floor, sorrow taking control of his voice. "Then I shall not make my presence known, but I must see her. Even if it is only to say goodbye."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

Author's Note: I do not own the song in this chapter, all rights belong to Enya.

Night had long since fallen and sleep and peaceful dreams had claimed all in the large house. All but her. Sleep did not claim her, not since that night. The worst night of her life. She had watched her love die before her eyes; and now she could not close them without seeing his blood on her hands, hearing her name on his lips. She spent this night, as every one before, wrapping herself in the one thing he loved most; music. She tiptoed through the manor until she found herself once more in the music room; it was a dusty, long forgotten room. The baby grand piano sat alone in the center of the room, illuminated by the ethereal light of the full moon pouring through the skylight. The wall behind the piano was covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflected the pale moonlight, filling the room with eerie and gloomy shadows.

Christine settled onto the bench with a heavy sigh. Without conscious volition her fingers danced over the ivory keys, her heart breaking a little more with each note. She had played this song every night since Erik's death, and every night it hurt just a bit more. Her heart begged her to stop, to never play it again but she somehow felt closer to him when she did, so close, yet so far away; so every night she played but never sang. Something felt different this night, this night she felt the overwhelming urge to lift her voice to the heavens once more for her Angel.

Erik had spent an hour searching for her, he could not see her through any of the windows, but thankfully, the boy was foolish enough to leave his doors unlocked. His eyes adjusted quickly to the utter darkness and in the cover of shadows he began looking for his love. He was halfway upstairs when he heard it. He followed the soft, mournful cries of the piano until he rounded the corner and saw his Angel for the first time since Don Juan. She could not have been more beautiful! The glow of the moonlight on her alabaster skin and the contrast of her mass of chestnut curls, she was a goddess! He only wished that he could see her face, look into her eyes. He needed to know if she was happy, if he should bow out gracefully and leave her to live her life. If only she would look up, her reflection would say all that he needed, but she never raised her head. So he watched her, waiting with bated breath.

"Once, as my heart remembers,

all the stars were fallen embers. Once, when night seemed forever, I was with you. Once in the care of morning, in the air was all belonging. Once when that day was dawning, I was with you.

How far we are from morning, how far we are, and the stars shining through the darkness, falling in the air. Once as the night was leaving, into U.S. Our dreams were weaving. Once, all dreams were worth keeping, I was with you. Once when our hearts were singing, I was with…you."

The final note fell from her lips in a tearful whisper as she dropped her head into her hands. She cried uncontrollably, the intensity of her pain so great that her body shook violently. He was gone, she had lost him. Never again would she hear his voice, look into his eyes, feel his arms around her and he would never know that she loved him. If only she had told him.

Tears streamed down his face as the scene played before him, that haunting song lingering in his mind. She was crying for him, mourning him. Could it be that she truly cared for him? Missed him?

He stepped further into the room, his footfall ghostly quite. His heart was racing, thundering in his ear so loud he feared she would hear.

"Christine…" He half sang, barely a whisper, just as he did on the rooftop so many months ago.

Her head shot up, her eyes automatically found his reflection in the mirrored walls. She inhaled sharply as her heart seemed to stop. "Promise that when I turn around you'll still be there." She pleaded as a stray tear crawled down her cheek.

She stood and turned ever so slowly, silently praying that he would not disappear.

A gasp of shock was ripped from her throat as she faced him. "Erik…"

Christine broke into a run, desperate to close the space between them, and flung herself into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder as he held her. All that she could think was that she needed him. She needed his arms around her, needed him to hold her and whisper that they would find a way to finally be together. He held her tight and sighed in relief. "I thought I'd lost you" she murmured against his neck. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of him.

"I'm here…I'll always be here." His voice was a balm to her soul, a sound she never thought she would hear again. She pulled away slightly to look upon his face, her left hand instinctively reaching for his mask. He recoiled from her touch, fear written plainly in his eyes. "Don't deny me this." Erik closed his eyes in defeat, awaiting the revulsion he had grown to expect. A gentle hand caressing his unmasked cheek caused him to look down at the angel before him.

"How I've missed your face…" Her words were soft and sincere.

Erik brushed a curl behind her ear and lifted her chin until their eyes met. An eternity passed as they gazed into each other's heart. He leaned in closely, their lips inches apart, and watched as her lids fluttered closed in anticipation. Ever so softly, his lips finally brushed hers, the earth shattering beneath their feet. He drank from her full, moist mouth and her plump pink lips were hungry against his; their hands grasped at collars and hair, both trying to give and take what they have wanted for so long. She moaned into his mouth as he pinned her against the wall, eliciting a groan of pleasure from her lover.

Erik grudgingly pulled himself from Christine's arms and took a few steps back.

"I love you, Erik." She confessed in between breaths.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

The infamous Opera Ghost was, for the first time in ages, left speechless. In all his thirty one years, born in grief and raised in hate, no one had ever dared say such words to him. His body felt warm and numb, his emotions reeling, and his breath seemed stuck in his lungs as her confession replayed in his mind. She loved him…could it truly be so? He looked down at the angel before him, her soft body once more pressed firmly against his, her arms locked tight around him, and her head resting peacefully on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace, and felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. This perfect creature had looked upon his marred and mangled face not with disgust and terror, but with immeasurable love and sincerity. Had she really grown to see past his face? The sins he had committed? Oh, he had dreamed that one day he may find a way to earn her love, to be worthy of her heart, but he never believed it to be possible. He did not deserve such a gift. Too many lives, innocent and guilty alike, had been taken by the very hands now holding Christine; his entire existence was stained with unforgivable cruelty and abhorrent ugliness, and yet, here she stood declaring her love.

"Take me away from this place" she whispered as she looked up to meet his adoring gaze. He smiled down at the love of his life, feeling, for the very first time, whole. Christine loved him, nothing else mattered. He shook his head, clearing all doubt from his mind, and led his beautiful lady from the room.

Echoes of the past caressed them as they silently descended the seemingly endless stairs. Erik led the way in the darkness, his cloak billowing gracefully behind. He repeatedly looked back to assure himself that he was in fact not imagining things. He smiled to himself as he took the time to really look at her.

Christine followed closely, her hand resting comfortably in his large, always leather bound palm. Her chestnut curls were loose and spilling over her shoulders, a stark contrast to her snow white skin. Her eyes were wide and glassy, enhanced by the remnants of charcoal shading and her soft, pink lips were slightly parted and curved into a gentle smile. A pearl white, ruffle trimmed robe hung loosely on her petite body, her already tiny waist emphasized by the matching corset that hugged her curves. Her long, graceful legs, hidden by paper thin stockings, slid teasingly through the split of the almost translucent underskirt. It was the very same outfit that she had worn the first time he had taken her to his home. Perhaps this was a sign.

When finally they were free of the confines of the de Chagny walls, Caesar grunted and pawed at the ground happily at the sight of his master. Erik lovingly stroked the ebony Andalusian's nose before helping Christine up and climbing on behind her. She instantly fell back against his chest, feeling safe and warm in his strong embrace.

As Caesar carried them off into the night, knowing their destination without instruction, the two lovers lost themselves in the feel of each other. No words were spoken for none were needed. They both clung tightly to the other, their hearts and minds lost in the overwhelming joy of their reunion and the infinite possibilities of their future. Neither Phantom nor Angel noticed anything outside of themselves, not the light snow that had begun to fall, the distance they had traveled, nor the porcelain mask they had forgotten in the music room at the de Chagny estate.

Just as the first hints of morning light peeked above the distant horizon, a small cottage jutted out from the surrounding maze of giant chestnut, maple, olive, and spruce trees. Barren rose bushes littered both sides of the front doorway and crawling ivy decorated the right side of the house. The babbling of a small river running through the back of the property mingled peacefully with the whispering wind.

Caesar came to a stop at the front door and shook his head, his silky mane flowing beautifully in the gentle morning air. Erik slipped gracefully from the majestic animal's back and lifted Christine from her perch, snaking his left arm beneath her legs, never letting her feet to touch the damp ground, so she rested comfortably in his arms. She giggled softly as she kicked her legs in the air, enjoying the feel of her body being so close to his. She watched with awe as her dashing Phantom seemed unburdened by her. With all the ease in the world, he removed Caesar from the confines of the bridle and reins and the weight of the saddle. He gave the horse a small pat on the back before Caesar trotted off to nibble on the dew covered grass.

Once inside, Erik finally relinquished his hold of Christine and quickly turned to the fireplace. He busied himself with the placement of the logs and the spark of the flint, trying desperately to think of anything but the emptiness in his arms that replaced her warmth. He still could not quite believe that she was here with him, that she had willingly been so close to him, that she had been so at ease in his embrace. He had not expected to have her in his arms again after Don Juan, and he had broken-heartedly come to terms with the thought, but it had not been so. She had welcomed him with open arms and an open heart. She had embraced him happily and now her absence burned him with a crippling intensity.

"Erik, this place is beautiful! Where did you find it?" She was turning in circles taking in the view.

The heavy mahogany front door opened up to a vast living area, the cherry wood floors covered with thick, deep red Persian rugs. The corner of the room, near the marble stairs, was composed of three floor-to-ceiling, six pane, stained glass windows that opened up to the back yard. The center of the room was openly divided by two massive columns, squared at the base and round in the center, with intricate carvings of ivy twisting around to the ceiling. A cream colored settee and matching chaise lounge, paired with a dark leather arm chair, sat in a semicircle around the large brick fireplace, which dominated the far wall.

"I purchased it from an old friend of mine not long ago. I am happy that you like it." His chest swelled slightly and a smile crept to his lips. She like his home. Her home if she wished it.

"I love it…it's very you." The last words were muffled by a yawn she had been trying to stifle. A bright red colored her delicate face as she hung her head and tried to hid behind her curls. Erik's rich, melodious laugh filled the air, bringing chills to her smooth skin.

"Come, I'll show you to your room." He strode past her and took two steps up the staircase before turning back and offering his hand.

When finally they reached the bedroom, he opened the door and stood to the side, allowing her entrance. She was halfway to the bed when she stopped and faced him, an even deeper blush spread across her features. "Could…could you help me with my corset? Its terribly uncomfortable to sleep in this contraption." A nervous giggle escaped her lips and wafted through the air.

He swallowed hard as he forced his feet forward. When only a breath separated them, she turned her back to him and allowed the robe to fall from her shoulders and pool around her ankles on the floor. His eyes roamed freely across the milky skin of her shoulders and the little bit of her back that the corset left exposed.

She winced inwardly as she felt his fingers trace them. Some of them old. Some of them new. Evidence of Raoul's anger and jealousy. Lashes, five lashes each night. Every night he would ask her whom she loved, and every night she gave him the same answer. Erik. Raoul was furious, saying that she would love him on her own or he would make her. But she had never faltered.

"Oh, Christine…" His voice was soft but full of pain. His fingers continuously tracing the white scars on her pale skin, wishing that he could will away her pain. She turned to face him once again, one hand pressing against his chest and the other caressing his face. "No, my love, do not blame yourself for this. This was my choice. I love you. I will always love you. He thought he could take away my love for you and he failed. He will always fail." She tilted his chin so she could meet his gaze. Her eyes held truth and warmth, filling his heart with a completion he had never known. He bowed his head and claimed her lips, a silent vow of everlasting love, and bid her goodnight. His hand had just grazed the door handle when she called to him.

"Erik, wait. I've spent every night for the last month dreaming of you coming back to me. I'm so afraid that I will wake to find this all a dream. Please…prove to me that this is real. Please…" Her voice was raw. Husky. Pleading. He turned back to her, and his eyes befell the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Christine had stripped down to only her chemise. She smiled at him, a sweet, provocative invitation, and simply drew her chemise over her head and dropped it into a heap on the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten:

Her entire body ached with need. He had been taken from her, they had been apart for too long and she needed him now.

Erik crossed the room in a flash and pulled her into his arms. He found her mouth with his, his fingers curling possessively in her hair as he dragged her closer.

In that moment, everything was forgotten but that Erik was real, alive, standing in front of her with his soul in his eyes.

His breath slammed right out of his lungs. His body was so hot, so hard, so tight, he was afraid he might shatter if he moved. Yet he could not stop himself. His hand, of its own volition, drifted down her throat to cup her breast. Her skin was incredibly soft, softer that he had imagined. His fingertips brushed over the curve of her breast, an artist's touch, explored and memorized the line of her ribs, the tuck of her waist, returned to cup her lush offering.

His emerald faze burned over her possessively, scorching her skin, sending flames licking along the tips of her breasts, her throat, her hips, between her legs. And then he bent his head and drew her breast into the hot, moist cavern of his mouth.

Christine cried out, clutched his head, her fingers tangling in the thick silk of his hair, her body shuddering with pleasure. She felt the strong, erotic pull of his mouth in the very core of her body. Her body clenched tightly, aching, coiled with edgy need.

She needed to be closer to him, skin to skin. The need was all-consuming, as hot as the sun itself, a firestorm raging, crowning, until there was nothing else, only Erik. Only feeling. Only his fierce possession. She cradled his head to her breast, arcing deeper into his mouth while her body went liquid hot.

She wrapped one leg around his hips, pushing her heated center against the hard column of his thigh, a hard friction, moving restlessly seeking relief. Her hands were tugging at his clothes, trying desperately to get them off him while his mouth left flames on her neck, her breasts, even her ribs. Erik caught her other leg and wrapped it around his hips so that she was open to him, pressed, hot and wet, tight against him.

His mouth found hers in a series of long kisses, each inflaming her more than the last. His hands were possessive on her breasts, her stomach, sliding down to her bottom, the inside of her thigh.

She was hot and wet with her need of him, her scent calling to him.

Erik's body was going up in flames. Christine had no inhibitions about letting him know that she wanted him, and it was a powerful aphrodisiac. Her body moved against his, rubbing tightly, open to his explorations. She was pushing at his clothes, trying to get closer, her mouth on his chest, her tongue swirling to taste his skin.

He removed the barrier of his clothing so her hands could find him, thick and hard and full and throbbing with need. The moment her innocent fingers stroked him, little fire bombs seemed to explode in his blood.

They came together in heat and fire, yet, for all his enormous strength, his desperate need, his touch was tender, exploring her body with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes. His mouth was everywhere, hot and wild, teasing, enticing, promising everything.

Christine clung to him, wrapped her arms around his head, tears glistening like diamonds on her dark lashes. "I love you, Erik" she whispered breathlessly. He lifted his head, his emerald eyes drifting over her face. "And I love you, my Angel" he bent his head to fasten his mouth to hers, rocking the earth for both of them.

Christine had no idea how they ended up on the bed. She was vaguely aware of being pressed against the wall, a wild tango of drugging kisses, of hot skin and exploring hands, of moving through space until the comforter was pressed against her bare body, her skin so sensitive she was gasping with the urgency of her own needs.

His mouth left hers to trace a path over her body, the swell of her breast, her belly, his tongue trailing fire in its wake. His hands parted her thighs, held her tight as her body exploded, fragmented at the first stroking caress of his tongue.

Christine cried out, her hands fisting in his wealth of thick hair. She writhed beneath him, her body rippling with aftershocks. "Erik…!" His name came out a breathy, whispered plea.

"I want you ready for me, Christine." He said, his breath warming her, his tongue tasting her again and again. Stroking. Caressing. Teasing until she was crying out again and again, her hips arcing helplessly into him.

His body blanketed hers, skin to skin, his heavier muscles pressed tightly against her softer body so that they fit perfectly. Erik was careful with her despite the wildness rising within him. He watched her face as he began to push inside her body. She was hot, velvet soft, a tight sheath welcoming him home. The sensation was pure pleasure, taking over every cell, every nerve. In the state of heightened awareness that he was in, his body was sensitive to every ripple of hers, every clench of her muscles, every touch of her fingers. Her breath...just her breath gave him pleasure.

He thrust deeper until her breath came in gasps. Until her body coiled tightly around his. Until her nails dug into his back. She was so soft and welcoming. He began to move, surging forward, watching her face, watching the loss of control, feeling the wildness growing in him, reveling in his ability to please her.

He thrust harder, deeper, over and over, watching her rise to meet him, stroke for stroke. Her breasts took on a faint sheen, tempting, enticing, a lush offering.

Erik bent his head to her, his dark hair sliding over her skin so that she shuddered with pleasure, so that she cried out with unexpected shock at another orgasm, fast and furious. She wanted him wild and out of control.

His tongue found her nipple, lapped gently. His mouth was hot and greedy, and she heard herself gasp out his name. She held him to her, arcing her body to offer him her breast, her hips moving in perfect rhythm with his.

His body was hard and hot and aching with the need for relief, the need for the ecstasy of total fulfillment. He claimed her mouth silencing her gasping breaths. And then he was surging into her. Wild. Out of control. Taking them closer to the edge of a great precipice. Christine clung to him, her softer body rising to meet his with a wild welcome.

Erik lifted his head to look at her, wanting to see the love in her eyes, the welcome, the intense need for him. Only for him. No other. It was there…she gave herself to him with no reservation. No regrets. It was deep within her soul, shining through her eyes for him to see. Christine belonged to him. And he belonged to her.

Fire rushed through him, through her. A fine sheen of sweat coated their skin. His hands found hers and they moved together, fast and hard and incredibly tender. She felt him swell within her, saw his eyes glaze, as her own body tightened, muscles unknown clenching and rippling with life. His name caught in her throat, his breath left his lungs as they rushed over the edge together.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven:

Author's note: I apologize for such a long wait for the next update, I desperately wanted to make sure to not disappoint in the following chapter. Please enjoy and review! :)

They lay for a long while holding one another, their bodies tangled together, skin to skin, his thigh over hers, in between hers, his mouth and hands still exploring. Christine cradled him to her, unbelieving that he was finally in her arms. She had longed for this for so long, to finally be with her love, her Angel, her Erik and now she was finally here. In his home. In his arms. His bed. She sighed deeply as she rolled into her lover's arms and nestled her face against his chest, his strong arms embracing her lovingly. "I love you, Erik" she whispered against his skin. He hummed happily at the feel of her warm breath against his bare chest and kissed the top of her head, her curls tickling his face. "And I love you, Christine."

Sleep came easily to the pair this night. They felt safe in each other's arms. They were, for the first time in what seemed an eternity, happy. Their dreams were of each other and the future ahead of them. This night was perfection. Heaven.

He woke to the warmth of the morning sun on his face and the heat of a petite body curled next to his. He stretched lazily, feeling wonderfully sated and rested. It was the start of a beautiful day. As he donned his dressing robe, he stared at the naked form of the woman who filled his bed and smiled. He would have loved nothing more than to indulge himself in her company all day, but his attentions were required elsewhere. Today would be the day his patience and hard work will finally be rewarded. What a lucky man is he!

The clicking of the closing door had just dissipated before the young girl leapt from the bed and hurriedly dressed. She flew down the hall and locked herself in her washroom. Her skin was beet red and tears poured from her eyes, yet she did not stop. The water was near boiling and she scrubbed furiously, just as she had done for the month past. Each night he forced her to share his bed and each morning she tried to wash away her shame. How the young girl prayed to be saved, released from this living hell. She was willing to do most anything to get away from the monster who holds her chains.

Raoul stared blankly for a moment at Christine's empty bedroom. His eyes scanned the made, obviously not slept in, bed; his mind replaying the events of his night, but the young girl's face soon became Christine's. He could almost feel the silk of her curls and the smooth satin of her skin beneath his. In his twisted fantasy, he imagined that he took her in front of her 'precious Angel' and forcing him to watch. Yes, that would be ideal, but at this point, the tension in his body would be satisfied with anything. He needed her. He wanted her. He would have her. Today. No, now. Raoul turned from the useless room and went in search for his prize.

"You!" His shrill voice echoed down the hall, scaring the wits out of the older woman. The hand that had, only moments ago, been dusting old family portraits, was now clutching her chest in fright. "Forgive me, Monsieur Le Vicomte, you startled me." She huffed out in between deep gulps of air. He waved off her apology, impatience eating away at him. "Where is Miss Daae?" He asked through gritted teeth, trying to hold back equal bursts of frustration and desire. He needed to find her now.

"I…I have not seen her this morning Monsieur. B…b…but I did hear a bit of music last night, Monsieur." She stammered quickly, completely unnerved by his presence. She knew very well, after all her years here, that those who proved useless, in any way, were swiftly dealt with...those who were lucky were simply dismissed. The others…God save them.

She let out a breath of relief when he stormed past her in the direction of the old music room. Silently she prayed that the Daae girl would not be there, but a large part of her, the selfish part, wished that she would be. At least then, perhaps she would be spared whatever punishment that vile man had in mind. The old maid tapped gently on her forehead, stomach, and shoulders in the sign of the cross and continued her work. She feared the worst, either for herself of the young innocent girl she had betrayed. 'God forgive me.'

Raoul threw open the doors to the music room, a triumphant smile plastered on his perfectly twisted face. This was her last sanctuary. Her last connection to that blasted demon she dared to call an angel. He had allowed her ridiculous mourning to continue out of a morbid enjoyment but enough was enough. She is to be his wife and his wife would know her place. "Christine…!" His voice was thick with amusement. Yes, this was the room in which she honored that monster's memory so this is where he would make her his at last. The smile he wore so proudly slowly faded as his slippered foot kicked something across the room. His amusement was replaced with horror, followed closely by utter fury, as he walked closer and picked up the accursed object. There in his hand, mocking him, was the cool porcelain mask of the Phantom. That demon. That fiancée stealing bastard! He screamed as his rage consumed him and threw the mask against the far wall. As he watched the shattered pieces fall to the floor, a smile once more curved his lips. Yes, this would do nicely.

He turned on his heels and walked calmly from the house and ordered his horse be readied. Today would be a busy day after all.

***meanwhile***

Erik woke to the unfamiliar sensation of a body pressed tightly against his, a small arm thrown across his chest, and a petite leg laying comfortably across his hips. He blinked away the fog of sleep and was greeted with chocolate eyes and a large smile. "Good morning my love" she cooed sweetly, as she brought her hand to caress his face.

He stared at her in disbelief for a while. How had he gotten so lucky? How had he come to be so blessed? The sunlight surrounded her, it's rays bringing out the hidden golden hues in her mass of curls and giving her skin a brilliant glow, like fresh pearls. A more beautiful woman could not exist; but her beauty was not simply physical. This wonderful creature in his arms…well, to him, that was explanation enough. Here she lay, willingly and happily, in his arms, in his bed, and touching his mangled flesh. She knew of his sins, his scars, his temper and yet still she stayed. No, no one could be more beautiful than his Christine. His…his Christine. How wonderful it felt to say those words. He pulled her closer still and breathed in her scent. He didn't want this to end, he didn't want to ruin the dream with thoughts of reality, but it needed to be addressed. Sooner rather than later. How else would he know? He needed to know. "Christine…" She silenced him with a kiss, pouring her heart and soul into the kiss, trying to answer any questions or calm any doubts he might have.

When finally they drew apart, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, then tilted her chin so he could meet her eyes more directly. She seemed to sense the questions he feared to voice, and resumed her caress on his right cheek. "You were built for me and I for you. I denied it as long as I could, but we were meant to be together, my love. You are the sea under my sky. We are bound at the horizon."

He crushed his lips to hers once more, his heart lightened and yet overflowing with love for this amazing woman. She loved him! He was the happiest man in the world! "Christine I love you" he sang against her lips, enjoying the way she shivered with pleasure.

Their time together was abruptly interrupted by repetitive knocking at the front door. Christine pouted playfully as he untangled himself from her arms and rose from the bed. Her pout soon turned to fits of laughter as he disappeared thought the door mumbling angrily at the yet unknown intruder.

Erik snatched the door open with blurring speed and strength, bellowing out a harsh "what?". When his mind registered the identity of the intruder, Erik had to fight the urge to slam the door shut just as quickly as it had been opened. "This had better be important, Daroga."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay in my update, life took a crazy spiral for me, I won't bore you with the details, but I am back to writing. Thank you all for waiting and not giving up on me lol. Sorry that this chapter is so short but it was a difficult transition chapter, please bare with me. I hope you enjoy!

The Persian sauntered past Erik, his expression a mixture of amusement and disapproval. "For shame my friend, while I admit I am happy for your…how shall I say? Happiness…" a coy smile curved his lips, earning a low growl of annoyance from the half dressed man before him. "But for the girl's sake, I pray that you plan to make an honest woman of her." Nadir's good-natured laughter barely made it past his lips before he felt strong a hand encircle his throat. He hissed in pain as he felt his back collide with the wall. Erik leaned close to the Persian's ear, his voice low and menacing, sending chills down his victim's spine. "Daroga…I am in a extraordinarily good mood this morning, so I am willing to overlook your momentary lapse in judgment. You have five minutes, three of which are already gone, to explain why you found it necessary to barge in unannounced and uninvited…" His grip lessened and his voice trailed off, his unfinished threat lingering in the silence.

Nadir coughed and cleared his throat and straightened his cravat. "Monsieur Firmin, he…well, he took his life. Apparently he was overcome with guilt and felt he could not live with himself anymore. And poor Andre, the man didn't have full control of his nerves before, the man is a complete wreck. He was checked into the sanitarium a few days ago, leaving the opera house practically abandoned. The deeds are being auctioned off in a fortnight…should a wealthy man with an interest in the arts come round."

Erik had found himself at loss for words. Nothing was turning out the way he had imagined. First Christine, then the lingering threat from the managers (slim of a threat as they were), and now the possibility to own the opera house, legally.

Nadir, who had made his way back to the door, turned towards his old friend once more as he remembered why else he had stopped by.

"Oh, and one more thing. Were you aware that your opera is to be performed once more? In a months time? I understand why you would obviously not be cast as lead tenor, but it seems strange to me that Christine would not be the leading lady…the part having been written for her after all."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, the Vicomte is still the Populaire's most prominent patron, and he approached Antoinette early this morning. He informed her of the upcoming premier and to be sure the cast is in perfect condition…that all of Paris' finest will be in attendance."

Erik paced back and forth several minutes. His eyes were cold and calculating, his frame rigid, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thighs. "Keep an ear to the ground Daroga, but stay quiet. Find out all you can of that idiot's plan. Stay close for now, I'll meet with you in two weeks time."

The two men shook hands and exchanged farewell insults, their minds preparing for the days ahead. Both secretly praying their plan would work in their favors.

"Erik…is everything alright?"

A soft voice cooed from the base of the stairs. She leaned against the ornate column; her delicate hands absentmindedly tracing the carvings, her right leg slightly in front of the other, her curls falling across her chest. The morning sun shone thru his dress shirt, her body silhouetted in the silk material.

His mouth went dry. His heart stopped. His skin burned.

He swallowed hard. He cleared his throat.

"Y-yes. Everything is fine, for now."

She smiled brightly, her eyes full of love, happiness, and mischief.

"Does that mean that you're coming back to bed?" A deep blush colored her cheeks but her gaze never left him.

Four long strides brought him within a breath of her, the smell of her skin intoxicating him. He drew her into his arms, enjoying the way her body molded effortlessly to his. "If my diva commands" he whispered against her ear, his lips grazing her skin, sending goosebumps across her body.

She took his face in her hands and kissed his lips. "Yes…I do!"

As he carried his Angel up the stairs and back to their bed, he could still feel the warmth of her hands on his face. His mask! How long had he been without it? When did he take it off? Where did he take it off? De Chagny! Christine had taken it of last night in the music room! Everything was starting to make sense! Except…Christine. Even in the morning light, she did not cringe at the sight of him. She still looked at him with love and desire. Oh how his fortune has changed! Perhaps it would not last, but he was hellbent on enjoying every second of heaven he was gifted.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen:

The following days passed by blissfully slow for the two lovers, their entire world consumed by the other. Music, conversation, laughter, and love echoed throughout the house as their own utopia blossomed around them. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. They were complete together. Two halves of the same soul, lost for so long, finally having found their way back to each other.

The warmth of the morning sun on her skin roused the sleeping angel from her dreams only to find herself, for the first time since she came here, in an empty bed. The heat from his body no longer clung to the silk sheets, confirming his long ago departure, but in his place lay a note and his signature rose.

My Christine,

Please forgive your Erik his absence; were it not of great importance, I would still have you in my arms. I could not bring myself to wake you to say goodbye, you were sleeping so peacefully…I simply could not disturb such a sleeping beauty. What business I have should be complete by midday and I shall come home promptly thereafter.

I fear we have been so preoccupied these last few days that you have not been able to explore the house, how inconsiderate of me. Indulge yourself in whatsoever piques your curiosity, but I beg of you to not wander out past the lake, I could not bear it if something were to happen to you.

I shall return to you soon my Angel. You are my heart, keep it safe for me.

Your Erik

A lone tear fell to her lips at the love in his words, she could hear the warm tenderness of his voice as she read. She brought the note and the rose to her heart, careful not to crumple the tokens of his devotion and love, and sighed in contentment. Here in this house, his home, his love, she was safe. And happy! Though she wished he could be here with her instead of…wherever he was, she could think of nothing else in this life that she needed or desired. Well, perhaps one day…she had always dreamed of being a mother. Oh what a wonderful father Erik would be! A wide smile lit up her face as she imagined her Angel chasing their little girl thru the snow, dodging snowballs until he scooped her into his arms and spun her above his head, her fits of giggles filling the air. More such thoughts filled her mind as she dressed and wandered thru the house, waiting for her love to return.

A strange feeling of nostalgia crept thru Erik as he navigated the darkened twists and turns of the countless corridors hidden deep within the walls of the opera house. Despite the truth of time, it felt as if it had been ages since he wandered these halls…since he sank back into his role as Opera Ghost. He could remember the rush he got from the fear on their faces when they could hear footsteps, a voice, a sinister laughter in the darkness, but there was no one else in the hallway. What fun he had at the expense of the idiots running amok in his theatre.

While, legally the theatre did not belong to him, it seemed he alone concerned himself with the wellbeing of the house. Were it up to the buffoons who owned the place, they would have been out of work and a home in a matter of months. Those fools had no knowledge of music or the arts in general, and still they refused to abide by the instructions he so generously provided to ensure the survival of the opera house and all who depended on its prosperity. He snorted at their incompetence, the damage they had already inflicted on the Populaire's reputation was already almost irreversible, but no matter…it would soon be his. Legally.

Nadir stood, rather impatiently, at the base of the grand staircase his right foot tapping rhythmically on the marble floor. He kept checking his pocket watch, scowling and mumbling curses in his native tongue as the seconds passed.

"Breed with the mouth of a goat? Daroga, what you do in your spare time is none of my concern, but I would not be verbalizing it if I were you." The Persian nearly jumped out of his skin as Erik seemed to materialize beside him. "Damnit Erik!" His had flew to his chest as he tried to calm his racing heart. "Don't do that to an old man! And I was speaking of your mother…how else would one birth a creature such as you? Vile man!"

Nadir had half a mind to slap that mask right off his friend's face when he noticed there was no mask. Where the cold white porcelain once rested, only smooth flesh remained.

"If you're going to stare, at least attempt to not make it so obvious. Try to act normal, I know that is a difficult task for you, but do try."

Nadir blinked his shock away and rushed to catch up to his friend who had begun to walk towards the manager's office. "How?" Was all he could manage to ask, still not quite sure what to make of the masked man's new face. A soft chuckle, followed by a quick "a magician never reveals his secrets" was his only answer.

The Vicomte de Chagny and the Populaire's lawyer sat comfortably in the office, one puffing on a cheap cigar and the other sipping expensive brandy. The fire beside them popped and flicked quietly and the grandfather clock ticked and tocked loudly in the silence. The lawyer's eyes darted to and from the door nervously as he waited for the potential new owner to arrive, afraid that yet another buyer had changed his mind. The Vicomte on the other hand seemed utterly displeased with his requested presence. He still had much to do to ensure Christine's return and this was an unnecessary delay.

A knock, followed by the quick opening of the door caused the lawyer to nearly fall from his chair. The imposing man who swept thru the doorway filled the room with an ominous air…his dark features, strong build, and intimidating demeanor sent a chill down the men's spines. "I…I…uh, Monsieur de Lancret?" The lawyer had stood, and now offered his hand to the man before him, while the Vicomte returned to sipping his brandy as if nothing had changed. Erik gripped the trembling man's sweaty hand and motioned for him to return to his chair. "Monsieur Benoit, I do not wish to seem abrupt, but if we could skip all pleasantries and get to the paperwork, I have other business to attend, as I am sure the two of you do as well."

The midday sun rested high I the sky as his home came into view. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he thought of the brunette beauty waiting for him inside. What would she say when he walked thru the door? Would she be excited to see him? Would she have come to her senses and tremble in fear at the thought of his touch? Would she welcome him with a smile and a kiss? Maybe, just maybe, he could hold on to this piece of happiness for just a bit longer. And perhaps he could, if nothing else, bring a smile to her lips with his news about her beloved opera house; with a new owner it would continue to remain open.

He took his time taking care of Caesar before closing the stall and slowly walking towards the house. His breath seemed to stick in his lungs as he opened the door, fearful of what he may see.

Christine sat in the parlor, curled up on the fur rug before the fireplace, one of her favorite books in her lap. She felt his presence before she heard his footsteps, and her pulse began to race. A radiant smile curved her lips as she turned to see him. "Hello my love!" She purred as she climbed to her feet and rushed into his arms, her precious book falling to the floor forgotten.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

(Author's note: in the previous chapter, I included a joke from Supernatural. I hope you guys got it and enjoyed the reference…if not, all I can say is, it's funnier in Enochian. :)

After returning from the opera house, Raoul slumped into his oversized leather arm chair, an irritated sigh pushing past his dry, cracked lips. His entire plan for Christine and her freak was set and ready to execute but the idiots coordinating his brilliant scheme 'need more time'. Patience was not his strongest virtue…not that he possessed many to begin with, and he was furious! But…perhaps…yes! This could work out perfectly! A little extra time, another month at the latest, would give him more time to explore. The passageways and caverns beneath the opera house were expansive and he did need to have a better idea of how to navigate them. Yes, that would do splendidly!

With a renewed sense of fulfillment, he sprang to his feet and sauntered up the stairs to his chambers, screaming for his mistress, discarding unnecessary yards of fabric with each step.

Down the hall, the young red haired beauty cringed as her master screeched her name. Jacqueline's eyes, hollow and cold, were swimming in unshed tears as she stared blankly out her window. Once, what seemed long ago, she had dreamed of living in such a place, enjoying the luxuries that wealth and station had to offer. She had desired such a thing for so long, that she had envied Christine and the attentions she received from the handsome nobleman. The Vicomte had only been the opera's patron for less than a full day and he was already smitten with the young soprano. What was so special about her? She was just as worthy as Christine. So consumed with jealousy, Jacqueline had been more that happy to snitch to the Vicomte when the ungrateful brunette snuck off to meet her secret lover. She was overjoyed when Raoul invited her to live with him…to share a bed with him. She had foolishly thought that she had finally taken Christine's place in his heart; after all, she was just as beautiful as Christine, just as desirable. If only she had known then what she knew now. The torture, the cruelty, the humiliation, the unimaginable pain that he not only bestowed upon her but on Christine as well. Never in her life had she known anyone to enjoy the pain and degradation of another as did this man.

So she prayed for her soul…and for the safety of the curly haired beauty, whom had always been so kind to her, that had managed to break away. And as she swallowed her tears and made her way to her nightmare, she prayed one final time that Christine could hide from this monster for the rest of her life.

Crisp sunlight warmed the hallway, illuminating the golden filigree adorning the walls. The light she had once relished in, now burned her skin, the bruises and lash marks never having time to fully heal. Her feet, though covered only in cotton stockings, slapped loudly in the deafening silence of the house. With each step, her heart beat faster, her breath coming in short and shallow bursts, until finally she stood before the door to his bedroom. With shaking hands and trembling legs, Jacqueline knocked twice before entering.

The thick velvet curtains, meant to shroud the room in complete darkness, were ripped from their perch and tossed carelessly to the floor. Shadow had been chased from every inch of the room, leaving no way to hide her shame. Raoul stood before her, beckoning her to take her place. With heavy steps, she made her way to the center of the room, which felt more akin to the colosseum of old, and waited. The Vicomte circled her, a vulture observing his prey. He slid his hands across her back and down her arms, ignoring how she flinched from his touch. Hot tears scorched the girl's face as he ripped the chemise from her body, throwing it over his shoulder. "What is your name, my pet?" His voice was thick with malice and thinly veiled desire, his breath like daggers on her neck. A disgusted, yet helpless shudder ran down her spine. "Christine…" She felt the bitter taste of bile in her throat as she whispered the name. She wanted to die! She cast a pleading glance towards the heavens, begging for salvation, only to be rewarded with cruel laughter.

"Oh Christine…" She cried out in surprise and pain as he grabbed a handful of her hair and forcefully jerked her head back, his mouth a breath away from her throat. "...I want you to sing; sing for your precious Angel as I take what is mine. Sing to him until you ruin the voice he gave you…only then will I finish with you."

He hissed the words thru clenched teeth, each one chilling her to the core. She screamed in hopeless protest as he pinned her against the wall, before closing her eyes, trying to block out the pain.

***meanwhile***

Stunned. Just stunned. Erik could not believe his good fortune. After hours alone, with plenty of time to come to her senses, she was still happy to see him. To hold him. To kiss him. How could this beautiful creature before him desire a man such as himself? His own mother could not bear the thought of loving him, or being in the same room with him, and yet this angel flung herself into his arms and pressed a welcoming kiss upon his mouth.

A sigh of overwhelming happiness floated past his smiling lips and for the first time in his miserable existence, he prayed. He begged to the god that he thought had long ago forsaken him, that this dream would never end. He prayed that God would not give him so wonderful a taste of heaven only to rip it away. Oh how he prayed.

"How was your day, darling?" Her silky voice ended his pleas and he was once again lost in the pure love shining from her eyes. He could drown in those chocolate pools and he would die a happy man.

Erik prided himself on very few things, but a way with words was at the top of that short list, but Christine seemed to make that impossible. The forming of syllables and stringing them together to form a coherent sentence became a Herculean task when she gazed upon his face with such genuine affection. So, to save face and keep her from feeling ignored, he reached into his inside left jacket pocket and handed her a sealed envelope. Christine giggled softly as she broke the thick wax seal and pulled the parchment from its confines. Her large eyes scanned over the elaborate print and the three swirling signatures adorning the bottom of the page.

"This is the deed for the Opera Populaire. You…you own the opera house? You bought our home?" Her voice broke slightly as the burst of emotion bubbled forth and poured down her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, laughing and crying. Poor Erik was so confused! Trying to comfort someone was not something he excelled at,especially when he wasn't sure if she was happy or upset.

"Christine…please do not cry, I cannot bear to see you cry. I did not intend to upset you, please forgive me."

She shook her head in his chest, giggles sliding past sniffles. "You did no such thing, love. I'm very happy. That was our home. I can think of no better man to own it than you. After all, you've said it was your theatre for as long as I can remember. But I fear I must caution you, it is rumored that the Populaire is haunted. Although I'm sure a man such as yourself is a tad old to believe in such foolishness, the Opera Ghost is not one to be trifled with."

She felt the laughter build up in his chest before it rolled forth, full and rich, filling the room. Their arms tightened around each other, laughing as they reveled in the feel of the other, neither wishing to be the first to let go of the moment.

Christine wiped her eyes, her face beginning to hurt from the constant smile plastered upon her features, and looked up to face the man before her. Despite what he seemed to think, she loved to look upon his face. Every inch of it made him who he was and she loved him for…her head tilted to the side and her brow scrunched up in confusion, as if she were seeing him for the first time. Every scar that covered the right side of his face, which she had lovingly committed to memory, was gone. Smooth, unblemished skin replaced the face of the man she knew and loved. "Erik?" Her voice was low and cautious. She did not wish to upset him, for he has always, and with good reason, been very sensitive about his face.

He reached up and touched his cheek, the soft mask warm beneath his fingers.

"I've been working on this for months. I thought perhaps if it worked well enough, I might be able to walk through town with you without notice or shame to you. I haven't used it before today. I couldn't exactly walk into the office to buy the opera house without it." A small, nervous chuckle echoed his words and faded into silence. He tried desperately to decipher Christine's thoughts, the look of confusion having never left her face. Eons seemed to pass, his heart pounding out of control. He wanted to shake her and beg her to say something. Anything. Her silent judgement was killing him. He had become accustomed to the judgment of others, but not his angel. Hers would destroy him.

"I hate that you feel that this" she gestured to the flesh mask covering his face, "is necessary. If you must wear it out, I understand. But I don't like it. It's not you. It's not the face of the man I love. All I ask is that you don't wear it at home." One of her dainty hands reached up and gently peeled away the offensive cover and caressed his exposed flesh. "This is the face I love and long to see every day. I never want you to feel as if you need hide from me. You hid from me for so many years…" Her eyes were wet with memories of their past and the pain she had once caused him. "I have hurt you so and betrayed your trust, and for that I shall never forgive myself. I can only pray that one day, I might find a way to prove to you that my heart is yours."

Thick, voluminous ringlets covered her tear stained face as her head and shoulders slumped in shame, her arms hanging limp at her sides. Erik's soul shattered at the sight of his angel so broken and yet swelled with hope at the promise of her heart. Perhaps fate was beginning to smile upon him. Dare he tempt her favor?

His entire body trembled as he took a breath and gathered his nerves.

"Marry me…" Hesitation gripped him a second too late as the words tumbled forth from his lips before he could stop them.

Madame Giry hummed softly a lullaby from her youth, the words long since forgotten, as she ran the ivory comb thru the shining mass of curls before her. Meg swept a pink blush across her best friend's cheek and dabbed a soft red color upon her smiling lips.

"Christine…I do not wish to sound unhappy for you, but I must admit that I am confused." She wrung her hands nervously and averted her gaze, suddenly ashamed of her curiosity. Christine had been as a sister to her and here she sits questioning her choice.

"Meg?" Christine's voice betrayed no anger or annoyance, only sweet concern.

"You were engaged to the Vicomte not so long ago and spoke of fear towards Erik. Yet you are here in his home and set to marry him…what has changed your heart?"

The blonde's words were quick for fear she may not get them all out. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and chanced a glance at the woman before her, praying that she had not overstepped her place, and saw a sadness growing in her friend's large eyes.

"I believe I did fear him once. He possesses such strength and power, and the feelings he evoked in me were so intense, they felt sinful. Everything I've been taught in this life led me to believe such feelings to be wrong. I clung to Raoul as a safety net, feeling secure in what society calls appropriate and normal. Yet, when the thought of leaving him behind forever came to a sudden reality, I panicked. The idea was abhorrent to me. I wanted to turn into his arms and forget that the rest of the world existed." She wiped her eyes and took a sip of water to wash the lump form her throat.

"Once again Raoul came rushing to my aide, fearing me to be a child in need of protection, and I allowed myself to be swept up in the fairytale. I told myself that I could learn to live without him and fall in love with Raoul. I prepared myself to perform in Don Juan as a last tribute to the feelings I held for my angel and leave all such emotions on the stage forever. But when I learned of Raoul's plan for Erik's death…my heart split in two. The knowledge that he would be taken from me, that I would never hear his voice again, or feel the touch of his hand…it nearly killed me." Her voice grew panicked and her body trembled. Fear flooded her eyes and paled her face.

"Then that night on stage, his blood upon my dress, the pain in his eyes…I knew I had lost him. He was dying right in front of my eyes and I could do nothing! To never hear him tell me that he loves me, or to whisper those words to him. I would never get to feel his lips upon mine. To never feel the comfort in his presence or the thundering of my heart when he held me. I felt that I could not live without him beside me...and then by some miracle he was returned to me! My heart swelled with hope and love at the very sight of him. All of the emotions I had fought for so long came crashing down upon me and it all felt so right. So perfect. So natural. I had never wanted to admit such thoughts to myself before, but in that moment I knew that I could never love another. It had to be Erik. It has always been Erik."

"And it has always been you, Christine. The love that man holds for you is rivaled by none other." Madame Giry's voice was warm and comforting, bringing joy once more to the trio. "Now, let us get you into your gown…a very anxious groom awaits." Laughter floated thru the door and caressed the worried hearts of the men walking past.

"It would seem you have won the fair maiden's heart, though only Allah knows how you managed that." Her words eased his mind so completely, Erik simply smiled at his friend's good natured retort as they made their way to the parlor.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen:

He was nervous. His heart pounded against his chest. His palms slick with sweat beneath his leather gloves. The mask upon his face was hot and heavy, nearly suffocating him. He felt the eyes of all those around him, few though they may be. Never in his life had he so desperately wanted to flee to the sanctuary of the empty darkness, in which he had lived for so long. The priest, as kind as he seemed, was a stranger to him, adding more terror to his frazzled nerves. And still his Christine was not beside him. Time seemed to be in no hurry to pass and soon he began to fear that she had changed her mind. The muscles in his legs itched to bolt from the room, never to return to the humiliation and heartache that was the story of his life.

Dainty footsteps drew him from the battle waging between his heart and his mind, the sight before him robbing him of breath. There, at the base of the stairs, stood the most heart-stoppingly beautiful angel that had ever graced the earth.

Christine stood with her shoulders back and her head held high, her eyes locked on his, a radiant smile upon her lips.

The sun, shining brightly thru the stained glass, cast a ethereal light upon the breathtaking vision that is his love. Her curls sat piled atop her head, four ringlets loose and framing her face. The milky skin of her shoulders left bare as the straps of her dress fell to drape across her arms. A snow white corset adorned with embroidered black rose vines, hugged her frame, drawing on what bordered inappropriate attention to her breast. The full skirt, sharing the same embellishments as the corset, flowed gracefully outward from her tiny waist. The rustle of the many layers of petticoats beneath the silk sounded of the flutter of angel wings as she made her way to her lover's side. She could hear the release of breath from his lungs as the realization finally took hold of him. She had not changed her mind. She was here, ready to be made his wife.

"Shall we begin?" The old priest's voice broke the silence. "Wait…" Erik's heart stopped with that one word from his angel. She looked up, her eyes pleading. "I do not wish to marry a mask…I would look upon your face as I pledge my life and love to you."

Pulse quickened as porcelain was parted from flesh. Love and happiness yet remained in her eyes.

Another heavy breath released.

"There…now I am ready." She cooed softly, her voice and words a balm to his soul. God how he loved this woman!

"I have been told that these two people, filled with desire to be joined as one before God and witness, would decline traditional vows in lieu of their own. Before they pour their heart's truth…if any here should find reason that these two should not be wed, let grievance fall from mouth and be heard, or forever be silenced." Nadir, Little Meg, and Antoinette shared a smiling glance, no objection to be found between them. No more perfect a pair had ever been seen before…or likely to be again.

"With silence, comes agreement. Erik, your vows."

The voice that had so captured Christine years ago, floated on the air and enveloped her, each word like satin against her skin. Heart and soul woven in between each syllable, bringing tears to her eyes.

"Christine, I choose you for life. I promise you my deepest love, my fullest devotion, and my tenderest care thru the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future. I promise to be faithful to you. I promise to love you, to commit to you, and to support you. I pledge to respect your unique talents and abilities and to lend you strength for all your dreams. You have shown me what love feels like and for that, I thank you. You are everything I need and at this moment, I know all my dreams have come true. I know that our love is heaven sent and I promise to be here forever and always. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. As I have given you my hands to hold, I give you my life to keep."

The priest, his back slumped with age and face etched with memories from years passed, took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes, while Christine let them slide down her smile and drip from her chin. Had more beautiful words ever been spoken?

A small sniffle and giggle of joy echoed in the silence of the house before she spoke of her devotion.

"Erik, I love you. 'I love you' means that I accept you for the person that you are and that I do not wish to change you into someone else. It means that I do not expect perfection from you-just as you do not expect it from me. It means that I will love you and stand beside you even thru the worst of times. 'I love you' means that I know your deepest secrets and do not judge you for them-asking in return that you do not judge me for mine. It means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go. It means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly, and hoping that you forever feel the same for me."

As words faded, Erik slipped a diamond encrusted silver band on her finger, a perfect mate to the large three stoned engagement ring, the pair glittering brilliantly in the warm rays of the sun.

Her tiny hands skillfully removed the leather from his, and kissed the space on which it belonged, before placing his silver band upon his finger.

The smiles they wore put the sun above to shame as somewhere in the distance, they heard the words they so desperately desired. "I now pronounce you husband and wife…you may kiss your bride."

His services no longer needed, the tired old man quietly slipped away and saw himself from the home. Two days earlier, when he was visited by an old friend, he had been asked to perform a private wedding ceremony. Such a thing would not normally have given him cause for concern, but Antoinette had stressed the need for discretion. "My friend is a very private person, he does not find comfort in the presence of strangers" she had said. The priest had noticed her eyes filled with worry and her body shook with fear. He did his best to comfort her and swore with the same oath given for confession, that her friend would be safe with him. He had not given a second thought to her concerns until the day of. He stood in, in his opinion, the most beautiful home he had ever seen, waiting on the groom. He smiled inwardly as he looked around at the smiling, loving faces of those present, when the man in question walked down the stairs. The stark white porcelain mask was blinding in the early morning sunlight. Some weeks past he had heard of the infamous ghost that terrorized the Paris Opera House, and the alleged crimes committed by his hand. He had heard rumor of the face kissed by the Devil himself and the woman the beast was so obsessed with. Stories told of this being, more monster than man, so consumed with jealousy and desire, that the woman of his affections, and any who stood in the way, were in grave danger. The old man had heard such tales, yet never truly put much faith in them. But now, now he knew such whispers to be true. Despite the promise he had made his dear friend, he contemplated abandoning his commitment and running to fetch the authorities. Sweat began to gather on his brow, afraid that he may not make it to the door if he tried to flee. He lifted his gaze to the imposing man before him, gauging his chances, when he saw it. The infamous Phantom was overcome with emotions. Fear, nervousness, and hope battled for domination in his expressive green eyes. He saw the masked man shake as his eyes burned holes in the stairs to his left. The priest's heavy mind gave way to a peaceful heart as he saw the love between the two as the bride descended the stairs.

Never, in all his years joining hearts and minds, had he ever seen such adoration and devotion between two people. Indeed he was shocked when the young woman, whom he now knew to be Christine Daae, removed the man's mask and revealed what lay beneath. None could say that this was a beautiful face, but the bride seemed nearly to burst with happiness and love. She looked upon the mangled flesh that was meant to be a face, as if she had never seen a more perfectly handsome man in her life.

As the deLancret manor faded into the distance, all thoughts of turning in the most wanted man in Paris dissolved from mind. Who knew what horrors Erik had endured in his life because of the unfortunate state of his face. If Christine can forgive all his transgressions and learn to love the man behind the monster, who was he to rip such happiness from them.


End file.
